


Into the Water

by FalovesPa



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bath Time, F/M, bathing with thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:26:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalovesPa/pseuds/FalovesPa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your relaxing bath is already wonderful. Then Thorin makes its exquisite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Water

**Author's Note:**

> This fills the first real fic request I got. No smut, but sensual fluff.

Your handmaidens have outdone themselves. The bath they drew for you is surrounded in lovely flickering light from ivory candles. Pink rose petals float quietly upon the water. A small golden bowl sits nearby, holding a blend of your favorite hair-cleansing scents and oil. You slide your robe off and prepare to enter.

It’s the cool of the day – your birthday, spent away from your King. Royal duty called, even on special occasions. After three weeks away, he's due back tomorrow, and you can hardly wait.

You step slowly and carefully into the bath, your calves welcoming the tepid water before you lower the rest of your body. Sitting on your bottom, you angle your head back to meet the large rolled towel placed at the tub’s edge, wedging it comfortably against your neck.

This is perfection, you think, as you begin caressing your arms with a small washing cloth. You hear the gentle lap of the water, a bird singing on the window sill, a breeze whip by, and then….the faint, sweet notes from a harp.

You sit up straight, your eyes wide as the music comes closer.

You know that harp anywhere.

“Thorin!”

Happiness overflows in you as your King, harp in his hands, comes into the room, continuing to play softly.

Your smile is making your face hurt, but you can’t help it: He’s home a day early.

Thorin stops playing and places his harp against the wall, then gets on his hands and knees to kiss you. You throw your wet arms around him and practically pull him into the water, fully clothed.

“Happy birthday,” he says, laughing at your excitement.

“Get in here and tell me that,” you whisper mischievously.

His eyes never leave yours as he stands up and pulls off layer upon layer, metal buckles and arm bands clanging to the stone floor. Lovesick and awestruck, you watch his striptease with bated breath.

At last he’s naked, and glorious.

He settles in front of you, and holds you close, telling you happy birthday again in your ear. So much wonderful lovemaking could happen right now, but you don’t want to release from this pure embrace. He’s all yours again, and you’re holding on as tight as you can.

“I’m so glad you’re home, I’m so glad you’re home….”

Thorin playfully dips your head back as if in a dance, completely wetting your hair. He reaches for the golden bowl and scoops out some of the crushed lavender, honeysuckle and grapeseed oil, applying it to your hair.

He methodically works it into your scalp, starting at your hairline and moving toward your crown, his strong fingers giving firm pressure in circular motions. Tingles race from the top of your head all the way down your backbone as you lean toward him, your breasts brushing against the hairs in his chest. His hands are now hidden under your mane, constantly moving, taking away all your cares. You feel faint from the sensation, and your body collapses against his, your face looking up to him.

It is at once stimulating and relaxing, and the most sensual thing he's ever done for you outside of your bed. 

He pelts your lips with kisses before dipping you again and running his fingers through your hair.

With just a little of the mix left, you move behind him and begin washing his hair, hoping he finds the experience just as rewarding. Judging by his soft moans, you conclude that he does.

He confirms it by saying, “Your hands are magic, my love.”

He sounds tired, and you realize that in order to surprise you a day early, he’s probably been riding a pony nonstop. After you rinse his hair, you kiss his back – your signal that he’s in for a massage. 

He gathers his wet hair in one hand and sweeps it across his neck in one smooth, graceful move, letting his locks hang down the right side of his chest. 

You take the cloth and begin gliding it over his shoulders, where, for once, there are no wounds to clean, no bruises covering his skin. You move the fabric slowly over the many freckles dotting his back and across his long-healed scratches and gashes. His body begins to relax as your rhythmic motions nudge at his tightest muscles. 

When you come across a particularly stubborn knot, you rub it firmly to release it. He lets out a relieved groan.

You smile to yourself and concentrate on his back a few minutes more, loving the peace and satisfaction you’re giving him. Your battle-weary King has lost so much and fought so hard in his life, long before you became part of it. There are things you will never know about him, things he will never share because they are too painful.

While you can’t erase the past or the hurt, you find joy in soothing him now.


End file.
